


Confession

by flinchflower



Series: Flashback [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Corporal Punishment, Hunters & Hunting, John is a damn good father in downtime, M/M, parenting, screwups
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-07 10:44:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4260336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flinchflower/pseuds/flinchflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flashback #11, Living (present day) Sam screws up a hunt, and Dean makes some decisions.  John supervises Dean's worry, with support from Bobby and Pastor Jim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Confession

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimers, disclaimers. *S2 spoilers present* maybe here is where I remind all readers that I deny character deaths with alarming frequency? My premise here is that John Winchester did not die at the end of S1/beginning of S2, but instead suffered a heart attack. Needless to say, I can't in good conscience let Pastor Jim die, after seeing the tears in their eyes....

Dean’s been thinking. He’s pretty damn glad that Sam’s in trouble though, with Dad keeping the kid to the front seat, because it gives him some modicum of privacy – see that’s the trouble with thinking. He does it enough, he turns into a dork to rival Sam. Modicum. Christ. He mutters a quick Christo under his breath, just to make sure he can say it. And misses his father glancing at him. They’d swapped out the cars down the road, Dad always did prefer the Impala over the truck, and neither of the boys had missed the fact that Bobby had laughed and socked Dad’s shoulder as he headed for the truck.

He’s got just under a year with them, if he’s lucky. He swore on the way over to that fucking crossroads that he wouldn’t moan and piss about it, wouldn’t get all schmoopy with them, but the problem is, just going about everyday things isn’t cutting it. He’d do something to make John and Sam proud, is what he’d like to do. But the thing is, he knows they’re already proud. It’s a problem. Well, not that kind of a problem, but-

“DEAN. Are you paying attention to me, boy?”

“Nosir, sorry.”

John’s a little taken aback by the reply. He sighs. “Dean, I asked if you boys had eaten.”

“Uh. Nosir.” He glances at Sam, sees the kid is asleep against the window. Not surprising. Sam had “forgotten” to wake him to take the watch, which in retrospect was a good thing. Dean would’ve tried to handle the crisis on his own, and then they’d really have been up shit’s creek, Sam had tossed a shoe at Dean to wake him, direct dialed Dad, firing at the same time. Fucking pixies. Dean hates that kind of shit. He briefly considers trying to talk his father out of disciplining the younger boy, but by the way Bobby had chewed the kid out – forgotten some pixie lore, never a good thing on a hunt… Well, Sam said he’d researched things, it wasn’t something that would’ve been missed, which meant Sam lied about it. Thereby getting them into something they couldn’t handle, just the two of them. Hence Bobby and Dad having to roar out and rescue them. Shit. He scowls, and notices John’s amusement.

“You need to either eat or sleep when we get in.”

Dean considers. “Both,” he says, with a charming grin, and enjoy’s John’s chuckles. 

“We’re not far out, Dean.”

“Wait – Bobby-“

“Takin’ the truck back to his place, we’ve been on the road for Jim’s for an hour or two now.”

“Oh.” _Dude._ “Man, too much downtime, losin’ my edge,” he complains to his father.

“Nah. Big fight, and not enough downtime after,” counters John. “You n’ me, Dean, we never ran hot for this long. You’re tuckered out, boy.”

“Maybe.” It’s all he’ll give his dad.

“Sam burning the candle at both ends?”

“I’m not rattin’ him out.”

That draws another chuckle from John, and Dean’s aggravated enough to huff a frustrated sigh in a way he hasn’t since he was fifteen, forgetting what happened that time. John pulls the car into Jim’s driveway, and turns to look at Dean before waking his youngest son up. 

“I suggest you mind your attitude, before you see some of what Sammy’s about to,” he says lightly. “As it is, you get on up to bed after you say hello.” He knows the attitude is stemming straight from exhaustion, but it’s not an excuse in John Winchester’s book. Dean goes on up the steps, and has a few words with the pastor, who shoots a frown in John’s direction before starting the frightening process of waking his youngest up.

As he expects, Sam startles when he opens the passenger door, but well, it’s Sam, and he’s too old to hunt if he can’t fend off one of his half-asleep sons. “Samuel,” he says firmly, and his son wipes a tired hand over his face. 

“M’sorry.”

“Yeah. On upstairs with you, Sam – Dean’s gone up already. Jim,” he says, nodding to the pastor, who'd appeared at his left shoulder.

“You’re laying down too, Winchester.”

“Jim-“

“You’re white as a sheet, man. Do it,” Jim urges quietly, and yeah, John’s tired. There was a run and a fight at the end, and he wasn’t quite ready for that yet, and then driving- oh well. He’s not going to get past a heart attack that fast. It’s fine.

“Ought to help you with supper-“

“Supper’s taken care of, if those two even wake up for the dinner bell.”

And Jim hauls the older man inside, parks him in a recliner, glaring at the man until he rocks it back. Jim sees his face ease, as he lays back, and nods to himself. Not bad strain then, more on the ribs than the heart, he guesses. He rummages in the kitchen for a few minutes, comes up with something they can both eat, and some cold glasses of water.

Dean lays awake for a while, listening to the sound of his father’s voice, hearing how tired it is, and he’s suddenly even more aggravated with Sam. How could the kid have not LISTENED? And it’s then that it hits him, what he can do. He can listen. God knows Sam carps that he never bothers enough, and he’s been on the receiving end of John’s disappointed sighs enough. Except it’s, well, it’s not easy, dammit.

And then he realizes they’re in the best place in the world for him to find a little advice – Jim will talk to him. He can’t just chat Dad up on this one, because god knows John could use a little of that same damn talent, or technique, or whatever it is. Bobby’s one of the most violent, vicious hunters he knows, but the man listens better than John does, that’s for sure. But Jim? Jim’s got this quiet way of just knowing a thing, when you want to talk about it, and of not reacting with horror when you finally do. It’s why Dean keeps him at a distance, most of the time, and Missouri too.

That thought echoes for a while, and he makes his mind up. He’s not hiding anything from Jim now. The man is family, in a way that’s irrefutable, and not something Dean would ever want to lose. Talking to Jim now, well, he’s going to do it. It’s a fucking huge leap of faith, but somehow he feels the man will approve. 

His stomach interrupts him, the noise of the growl blending with Sam’s exhausted snores. Damn. Well, he’s an adult now, John won’t be paddling him for getting out of bed after he was told to get there, not when it’s hunger keeping him awake. He shifts uncomfortably, because that’s not the entirety of the truth, really, though a truth all in it’s own. Then again, John had dealt with midnight snack excursions with a stack of peanut butter sandwiches and glasses of milk, keeping whichever boy company at the table until the food had vanished, and then escorting them back to bed after a second round with a toothbrush. The spankings had come when they put up a fuss about actually going back to bed, not about them being up in the first place. 

John hadn’t ever objected when one of his boys was worried and needed to talk, either. Dean remembers sitting up with Sam, some nights when John was gone, feeding him sandwiches, and just listening to the boy’s worries, just like their dad did. He throws the covers back, pulls on a pair of flannel pants and a t-shirt to pad softly downstairs.

John gives him a startled look, Jim a knowing one. 

“Dean,” John asks, even as Jim vanishes into the kitchen.

“M’too hungry to sleep,” he says, with some honesty, and his father nods. 

“Dean,” Jim calls from the kitchen. “Come on out here.” 

It doesn’t need to be done, Dean knows that, but he looks to his father for confirmation. In return, there’s one of the rare gentle smiles that John pulls out of nowhere, where the corners of his eyes crinkle, and his mouth curves up slowly. “Go on, Dean. Come on back by when you’re through, then,” he says, rocking and sipping at a mug of what Dean hopes is decaf. 

The fact that Dad’s not getting up reassures him, for some reason, and he wanders into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. And laughs a little, because Jim’s got that same plate of sandwiches out, and a glass of milk. Dean turns the beveled glass in his hands as he takes a bite, looking at Jim sitting placidly across the table from him.

“Sam asleep?”

“Out cold.” He sips at the milk, which is ice cold, and for some reason tastes really good with the peanut butter. Jim just waits, patiently, the same way he always has. Most of the time, if he forgets to look away, Dean’ll get a faintly sad look from the Pastor, if he doesn’t offer up any conversation, though he knows – because Jim had told him so, pointedly – that it’s okay if he doesn’t talk, if he’s not ready to. “I…can we talk, while we’re here?” Not now, he thinks fervently, I’m too tired but if you want...

“Yes,” Jim says firmly and decisively, and Dean’s glad he didn’t say something uncomfortable like of course. “Your Dad wants some time with Sam tomorrow, I could use your help down in the church vault, it’s been a while since some of the things stored down there have been cleaned.”

Dean brightens visibly. He can keep his hands busy while he sorts out what he wants to say, that always goes better, and damn, but Pastor Jim has some fucking cool weaponry stored in there. “Be happy to,” he says, and a wave of exhaustion washes over him. He gives Jim a wry frown. “Tell me there wasn’t a sleeping pill in that,” he says waving a hand at his plate.

“No,” Jim chuckles. “You’re tired. Go check in with John, I”ll clean up.”

“That’s decaf he’s got, right?”

“Young man, the day that I can’t take care of any of you,” Jim warns, and Dean gives him a grin and goes out to his father. John beckons to him, and the boy perches on the edge of the recliner.

“Sam and I’ll be having a chat tomorrow,” he says bluntly, and Dean reassures his father that Jim’s asked for his help. “That so,” John says, and pulls the kid off balance down into his lap. “Mind your manners, and don’t touch any weapons without clearance from Jim,” he says, and tries not to chuckle at the protest that raises from his responsible son. “Get some sleep now,” is all he has left to say, and plants a firm swat on Dean’s backside, amused when his son squirms in response, fidgeting in his father’s tight embrace.

“Night, Dad,” he says, and this time once he lays down, sleep claims him instead of worry.

**Author's Note:**

> Music: The sound of the hot bugs in the trees outside


End file.
